A Winn3r Is You  Nicktoons
by E350
Summary: The gang from Volcano Island are invited to a mystery tournament, but not everything is as it seems.Here is my entry for avatarjk137's 'A Winn3r Is You' contest. All of my round entries will go here. I recommend reading alongside the other entries.
1. Entry

I hope I haven't done something wrong.

I bet I've done something wrong. XD

Anyway, here's my entry submission to the 'A Winn3r Is You' contest by avatarjk137. Go read his stuff.

**

* * *

A Winn3r Is You – E350**

**Entry Chapter**

Danny Fenton slapped the letter on the table in his kitchen, a serious expression crossing his face.

"This all seems really fishy to me," he growled.

Sam Manson raised an eyebrow as she read over the letter for herself. The note was written on a rather old fashioned parchment. The handwriting was impeccable – obviously, whoever wrote it came from a rich upbringing.

"Looks alright to me," she shrugged, "Rich reward, free vacation to one of the greatest cities on earth…what's not to like?"

"You seen the news lately?" snapped Danny, "There's a freaking…what do you call it…a hellgate in the middle of the city!"

"Technically, you have a hellgate in your basement," reminded Sam.

"That's different," replied Danny, "I'm used to the stuff that comes out of the Ghost Portal. This is a gate to _hell_. Heck, this guy doesn't even seem too concerned about it! What's his name again?"

"Lucius Malfoy," read Sam, "Nice name."

"Yeah, whatever," sighed Danny, "I'm just saying that this all sounds too weird for me. Sounds like something Vlad would do. Anyway, he knows too much – look."

He grabbed the letter and pointed to a specific line.

"Remember Volcano Island? He's invited everyone who was there, bar Tuck and Squidward," he explained, "He mentions Timmy's fairy holograms. How does he know this?"

Sam shrugged.

"OK, that's pretty fishy," she admitted, "But that just gives us more reason to head to Metropolis and meet this guy."

Danny shook his head.

"Look," appealed Sam, "If he's one of the good guys, then we're fine. If he isn't, then it's your job as Danny Phantom to bring him down."

Danny mulled it over in his head.

"Alright," he sighed at last, "I'm in. But I'm not happy about it."

He got up from his seat and began to walk out of the room.

"I'll call the others on the Recaller," he explained, "You head home and pack. When does the train to Metropolis leave?"

"Two thirty," replied Sam, "Two hours."

"Right," nodded Danny, "I hope Timmy can cover for himself, then."

* * *

Half an hour later, Mr. Turner walked into his son's room.

"Hey, short stuff!" he exclaimed, "Lunch time!"

A badly stuffed scarecrow dressed in Timmy's clothing fell from the bed, landing with a thud on the carpet.

"That's the spirit, son!" grinned Mr. Turner, dragging the scarecrow out of the room.

* * *

Danny sat on his seat aboard the 2.30 to Metropolis, an Amtrak train that had seen better days. He and Sam were on one side of the isle, while Timmy, Spongebob Squarepants, Patrick Star and Sandy Cheeks were on the other. Danny had to admit, the two sea creatures looked ridiculous in their large water helmets.

The ghost boy was just opening up the provided magazine (it had a NASA article in it) when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He jumped, and gave a yelp.

"Please tell me," a voice hissed, dripping with contempt, "That you're not afraid of a simple cane."

Danny turned. A tall man with long, blonde hair and sneering, disdainful features was looking down on him, arms crossed. His attire was black and finely made (although rather worn), complete with a robe.

"What is your problem?" snapped Danny.

"I would have thought that you'd show more respect to your sponsor," spat the man.

"Lucius Malfoy?" asked Sam.

Malfoy nodded.

"OK," demanded Sandy, "What in tarnation's goin' on here? We know you're draggin' us all the way to Metropolis to fight some fancy tournament, but that's all you've let out!"

Malfoy shot her a piercing glare.

"I was _about_ to tell you, you ignorant Muggle," he sneered.

Sandy glared back at him, her fists clenching.

"The general idea of this tournament," Malfoy explained, "Is that there are many different teams sponsored by many different individuals, such as myself. You will directly compete against the other teams in various challenges over multiple rounds. The winner…will be greatly rewarded. Is that _simple_ enough for you?"

Danny glared.

"Yeah," he snapped, "Simple."

"Very good," nodded Malfoy, "Oh, and you, boy…"

He pointed to Timmy.

"I'm not counting your little companions into the tournament," he snarled, "Any preparations you need to make with them must be done _before_ a challenge."

"But I won't even know…" began Timmy.

"Frankly, my boy," shrugged Malfoy, "I don't give a damn."

He turned on a heel and began to stride down the isle. There was a sudden 'crack!' and he was gone.

"He's mean," mused Spongebob.

"He's a jerk," snapped Sam.

"He's definitely not telling us something," growled Danny."

"You're paranoid," scoffed Patrick, "How can you _not_ trust that guy?"

"Did ya see him?" exclaimed Sandy, "He was limping? Why in the good name of Texas would he be limping?"

"He could've kicked the TV," shrugged Patrick, "I do that all the time."

Sam looked at Danny, biting her limp.

"So, he's a creep," she mused, "We still in this?"

Danny nodded.

"Yeah," he decided, "We're gonna win this."


	2. Round 1

...and here is my entry to round one. Enjoy!

Review replies;

**avatarjk137:** Thanks, I'm looking forward to the rest of the tournament! :)

**TweenisodeOrange:** Mad madness, that's what it is. XD Thanks for reading.

**Clockwork Oracle King:** You shall, if all goes as planned. Thanks for reviewing!  
**

* * *

Round One – The Paintball Episode**

"Paintball, huh?"

Sandy gave an amused look to her team-mate as she waited for the cleaning process to finish.

Danny was warily looking at the door, an anxious look still plastered on his face. He rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

"It seems suspicious," he mused, "Why do we need a rule not to kill in this round? What kind of people are we up against?"

"I looked," replied Sandy, "Ain't nothin' but a bunch of medieval rejects."

The door to the field opened, and an anonymous official motioned for them to step inside.

The mid-afternoon sun still shone vibrantly over the grounds, challenged only by the slowly extending shadows of the hay bales and chest-high walls. The trench that ran diagonally through the course was somewhat dishevelled from the fighting around it throughout the day, but it could still provide valuable cover if taken.

"Try to take the trench," hissed Sandy, "Better cover."

Danny nodded.

They strode confidently into the course. Danny glanced up on the way in, sighting Timmy on the balcony above. He gave a nod, and Timmy countered with a wave.

Across from them, the other team – this so-called 'Order of the Stick' – had marshalled on the other side. Their apparent leader – a black man in armour who looked as though he was missing something important to him – stood at their head in the main field. With him was an orange-haired woman with a ponytail and a single odd hair hanging to the side of her forehead. Above them, a blonde fellow with a rather strange frontal hairstyle and a blue vest was preparing to support them from the platform above. He looked most enthusiastic.

The blonde fellow gave a keen thumbs-up to the girl, who gave a small grin and returned a wave.

The loudspeaker fizzled into action.

"Welcome back!" boomed a voice, a man whose name they remembered as 'Deadpool', "We're now on our fourth match today – team one is a bunch of multi-dimensional weirdoes led by a skinny douche with ghost powers, and team two are a bunch of web-comic stick figures from Dungeons and Dragons!"

The team blinked, as Danny gave an annoyed glance to the loudspeaker.

"What did he call me?" he snapped.

"You all know the rules," reminded Deadpool, "And if you don't – meh, not my fault. Fight!"

Danny and Sandy made a run for the chest high wall at the immediate south of the field, sliding into cover. On the other side of the field, their opponents headed for the wall closest to them.

"Timmy," shouted Danny, "Pass us a gun!"

Timmy glanced over at the weapons gathered and grabbed a gun, tossing it down to Danny. He was reaching for another one, when he felt a heavy thud against his side. He stumbled backward, winded.

The blonde man had picked up a gun, and was now firing at his elevated opponent. Below him, the black man was motioning for him to pass down a weapon, to little avail.

"Crud," snapped Danny, reaching for the weapon Timmy had passed down. Holding it up to his shoulder, he took aim and fired.

The blonde man jumped as Danny's shot missed him. Regaining his bearings, he grabbed another gun and tossed it down to his friends. It hit the black man square in the head on the way down.

The leader, somewhat exasperated, broke cover. He ducked behind the nearby bale of hay and fumbled with the gun, trying to work out how the modern piece of machinery functioned.

Timmy crawled to his feet, a grimace crossing his face.

"Two can play at this game," he snapped.

He reached over to another gun (there had been three nearby him) and fired three shots at the blonde man.

The first shot missed.

The second and third shots hit the blonde man in the stomach and head. The fellow gave a slightly humorous cry as he was pushed back against the wall, hitting his head on the hard surface. Sliding down, the man began to drool as he fell unconscious.

Timmy punched the air, and grabbed the final gun. He tossed it into the pitch.

In his adrenaline-fuelled excitement, he hurled the weapon well over his team's heads. It soared across the pitch and landed at the feet of the woman, who grinned and picked it up.

"Ah, crud," Timmy cursed.

The girl stood up from her cover and fired a shot. The pellet hit Timmy clean in the head, and his world faded to a searing white.

Danny shook his head in annoyance.

"OK," he hissed, handing Sandy the gun, "If we're getting to the trench, we've gotta do it now."

"Got it," nodded Sandy, "We go on my mark."

There was a brief pause.

"Mark!"

They ran from the wall, immediately attracting fire from their enemies. Danny gave a groan of pain as his arm was hit, but he struggled onward. They dived into the trench, and began to fire at their enemies from cover.

The girl ducked out of cover to fire, shooting a pellet that narrowly missed Sandy's head and caused her to duck. Shaking her head, the woman ducked down to reload.

"Keep that other jackrabbit off me," barked Sandy, "I got an idea."

Danny nodded, and fired at the black man. He then crawled briskly up the trench, attracting fire away from Sandy.

The woman ducked up again, having finished reloading. Sandy fired a shot from her own paintball gun.

The pellet struck the girl between the eyes. Her face was splattered with the multi-coloured gunk and she fell onto her back, out cold.

The black man immediately took notice. He hissed a curse and decided to take the initiative. Breaking cover, he rushed into the trench and thrust the butt of his gun into Sandy's face. Sandy flinched, and stepped backwards. The man clutched his gun from the stock and raised it, as if it were a sword.

Sandy kicked up her foot and hit him in the crotch.

Giving a moan, the man fell onto his back, and began to crawl backward. Danny strolled up behind his team-mate, shaking his head.

"That is not cool," he muttered.

Sandy grinned, and they walked over to the warrior, groaning on the ground. She aimed at the downed man as Danny towered over him.

"Alright," he sneered, "You wanna give in?"

The man gave a scowl.

"This wouldn't have happened if I'd had my sword," he snarled, dropping the gun and holding his hands up.

"Very good," nodded Danny, "Now, what was your name?"

"…Roy Greenhilt," replied Roy, somewhat confused.

Danny ran over to a hay bale and jumped on to.

"_GREENHILT!_" he bellowed, holding his fists to the sky.

There was a long silence as the buzzer was sounded, symbolising the end of the round. Roy and Sandy blinked.

"Sorry," muttered Danny, "Couldn't resist."

"Is he…_always_ this crazy?" asked Roy.

"Nah," replied Sandy, "Must be the adrenaline."

* * *

"Well," shrugged Danny as he fell on the couch, "That was surprisingly fun."

Timmy said nothing as he nursed his many bruises.

They were staying at a small, cheap hotel in the centre of the city. Despite the price, it was a fairly nice room – a double-bed, two singles and two inflatable beds were provided, along with a coach, a television and a desk.

"What was with the _Rocky_ thing?" asked Sam, her eyebrow raised in amusement.

"What?" snapped Danny, "I was having fun!"

"There's something about this I don't get," mused Timmy, "Why did Malfoy pay for us to come here for _paintball?_"

"We'll just have to wait and see what the next challenge is," shrugged Sam, "It can't be too harsh, right?"

Timmy muttered to himself as he held an icepack over his aching elbow. If this was the standard of the contest, then he would be smarting for weeks.

* * *

I don't think I'll win this round, but I had fun, and that's the main thing. :)


	3. Round 2

Well, here's round two. I don't like it much, but I put effort into it.

Review replies;

**LordGambit508:** Yeah, that was a bit of a boob on my part, but I wanted to keep it true to paintball. Sorry. :) Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** *Thunderous applause.* Thanks for reviewing!

**

* * *

Round Two – Bored Games**

Malfoy slammed the box onto the table. Sam and Spongebob gave him a confused look.

They had been crammed into a small, slightly damp room, observed by several cameras on the walls and roof. They sat at a metal table with four wooden seats, the two on the right as yet unoccupied. Why they'd been forced into the janitor's closet was unknown – but it might have had something to do with Patrick burning half the carpet on the way into the Centre.

"Monopoly?" mused Sam, brow raised.

"Don't question it," snapped Malfoy, "Just play."

"It looks kinda mouldy," observed Spongebob.

"Yes, I found it in my cellar," replied Malfoy, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have…business to attend to."

He strode away, his limp diminished but still present.

As he walked out the door, he was passed by a small green alien and a short grey robot. The alien had a somewhat crazed glint in his pink eyes as he marched over to the table.

"You fools dare to challenge me!" he snapped, "The mighty _ZIM?_ You will soon learn the error of your stupid, stupid ways!"

He slammed himself onto a seat on the other side of the table.

"So, puny worm-baby!" thundered Zim, "Tell me the rules so that I may use them to crush you!"

There was a short silence.

"…what are the rules again?" asked Spongebob.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they had worked out the rules and were ready to play. In this time, they had taken their pieces – Sam had the shoe, Spongebob the battleship, Zim the cannon and GIR the dog.

"OK, I'm up first," stated Sam, "How do they know when we're ready…"

A buzzer loudly sounded.

"Never mind," shrugged Sam, and she rolled the dice. The dice landed with a rattle in the middle of the board, falling on four and six – a ten.

"Visiting jail," mused Sam, "That's a pretty useless start."

She handed the dice to GIR.

"Go doggie!" yelped GIR, excitedly hurling the dice.

The dice landed on a one and a four, making a five. Making a rough approximation of a dog's barking, GIR moved his piece.

"Kings Cross Station," read Spongebob, "Wait a minute, isn't that supposed to be the Reading Railroad?"

"This is the British version," replied Sam.

"Choo-choo!" exclaimed GIR, throwing $200 into the bank.

"My turn!" thundered Zim, "Give me the dice, GIR!"

GIR threw the dice at him. One of them hit him in the eye, and he gave a yelp of pain.

Grumbling to himself, Zim threw the dice. Landing a five and a six, he moved his piece to Pall Mall, the first pink space.

"Zim will take your pathetic mall!" he thundered, throwing money at the bank. He then slammed the dice into Spongebob's hand.

"Come on, don't fail me guys," Spongebob pleaded to the dice as he shook them in his hand.

He dropped them on the board.

He got a one and a four, landing him on top of Kings Cross.

"Tartar sauce!" he exclaimed, handing $25 to GIR.

"Come on," shrugged Sam, "It's just twenty-five bucks! It's not the end of the…"

She rolled a seven and landed on Community Chest.

_Go to Jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200._

"I hate this game," groaned Sam.

_

* * *

Ten minutes later…_

"How did he pass Go so early?" demanded Zim.

"He got a double twice," replied Sam, "That meant he could roll again."

"Zim does not approve!" snapped Zim.

Two full turns had passed, and the game was very much in full swing. So far, GIR owned Kings Cross Station, Pentonville Road and Northumberland Avenue. Zim had acquired Pall Mall and Fenchurch Street Station. Sam still had nothing, due to her stint in the joint. Spongebob had picked up Marylebone Station, Leicester Square and Bond Street, and had become the first player to pass Go.

"Well, my turn again," shrugged Sam, taking the dice.

Two twos were rolled, and Sam punched the air.

"Yes! Doubles!" she grinned, moving her piece. Landing on Strand, a red square, she paid for the property and rolled again.

Getting a six and a five, she moved again, landing on Regent Street. Paying for that, she sat back and handed over to GIR.

"Back to the waiting," she sighed, pulling a book from her pocket.

Once again, GIR gleefully rolled the dice, and got a seven. This landed him on Strand. Zim growled as his team-mate handed money to Sam.

"GIR!" he snapped, "Throw the dice better!"

He grabbed the dice and hurled them at the board. They rolled off the board, across the table and onto the floor.

"_Much_ better," chuckled Sam, "That's eleven, by the way."

"_Silence!_" thundered Zim.

He moved the piece onto a Chance space, and picked up a card.

_Get out of jail free. This card may be kept until needed or sold._

"Ha!" guffawed Zim, "I am above your puny law systems! Not even your jails can hold me…"

"He does realise that that thing doesn't work in real life, right?" asked Sam, slightly concerned.

"Nope!" grinned GIR, brightly.

_

* * *

Ten more minutes later…_

Spongebob picked up the card for the electric company.

"Are you kidding?" gasped Zim, "Now the sponge controls our power supply! Drat you, dice! You've doomed us all!"

_

* * *

Five minutes later…_

The dice returned to Sam, and she grinned.

"Hey, Spongebob," she grinned, "Trade you Strand and Vine for Bond Street."

"OK!" nodded Spongebob, exchanging the cards.

"Hey, GIR," continued Sam, "If you give me Regent Street, I'll give you…fifty dollars. And I'll buy you something when we're done."

"Tacos?" asked GIR, hopefully.

"Sure," shrugged Sam.

"Okey dokey!" said GIR, as he brightly handed over Regent Street.

Zim buried his head in his hands.

"That was easy," chuckled Sam, exchanging $200 for a house on Regent Street.

"One day, GIR…" murmured Zim.

_

* * *

Another five minutes later…_

Zim landed his piece on Kings Cross Station.

"Meh, its GIR's," he shrugged, "I'm fine."

There was a short silence. Zim looked to his right, to find GIR holding out his hand expectantly.

"GIR!" thundered Zim, "I'm your _master!_"

GIR twiddled his fingers.

Zim's roar was muffled behind his gritted teeth as he shoved a fifty into the robot's hand."

_

* * *

Twenty minutes later…_

Most properties had now been sold. With control of the teal and purple sections of the board respectively, GIR and Zim had mortgaged essentially everything else they owned. Sam and Spongebob controlled the blue, green, purple and orange sections, but were going for broke at the moment. Spongebob had control of both utilities, and all stations were mortgaged.

Sam whispered a suggestion to her team-mate.

"I'll swap you Park Lane for the utilities," she hissed, "I've got an idea."

"OK," shrugged Spongebob.

Zim chuckled as they exchanged cards.

"You can do nothing to save yourselves!" he thundered, "You are doomed, wormbabies! Doomed!"

Sam hid a knowing grin.

_

* * *

Ten minutes later…_

GIR rolled the dice, and landed upon Mayfair.

"Four houses," sighed Zim, "Pay it, GIR."

"…that'll be $1700," Spongebob grinned, brightly.

Zim's eyes widened.

"You…you filthy piggy worm baby!" he exclaimed, "That was your plan!"

"Yep," grinned Sam, "Problem, Zim?"

"Yay! I lose!" GIR grinned, getting up from his seat.

Zim gritted his teeth.

"You may have beat GIR," he snarled, "But the mighty _Zim_ will still defeat you!" Just you wait!"

_

* * *

Yet another ten minutes later…_

"…can you please just give up?" groaned Sam.

Spongebob and Zim had passed the board seventeen times since GIR had gone bankrupt. Sam herself had been put out by landing on Park Lane and being unable to afford the rent.

"Never!" thundered Zim, "The mighty Zim will not be beaten by a mere sponge in this game! Not until my last breath…"

He sighed.

"Oh, forget it," he snarled, "This game is stupid. It's a _stupid, stupid game!_ What evil beings paid for this game to be made?"

Sam looked at the bottom of the box.

"The London & North Eastern Railway," she shrugged.

"Truly, they are the most evil corporation in the universe!" thundered Zim, "I will not rest until they are vanquished!"

He stood up.

"Come, GIR…" he began.

He was immediately shoved aside as the robot playfully jumped from his seat.

"Taco time!" grinned GIR.

The buzzer sounded as he dragged Sam and Spongebob out the door.

* * *

Timmy was alone in the hotel, and was rummaging through the garbage bin.

"Timmy, isn't that a little…disgusting?" quizzed Wanda, who was floating over him.

"I'll be fine," shrugged Timmy, "But I dropped my M&M's in here and I'm gonna find 'em!"

Wanda backed away, looking revolted.

Timmy felt paper in his hand. Believing it was the packet he was looking for, he pulled it out.

"Hey, this isn't my…" began Timmy.

He then looked at what he was holding.

It was a burnt-out postcard, with just four readable words; Luthor…Malfoy…hellgate…H.E.L.L…

"What the heck?" quizzed Timmy.

* * *

The plot slightly thickens!

I based this on a game against myself. It was very, very boring.


End file.
